Dig Dug Toot.

Picking your nose; scratching the inside of your ear; digging for something stuck in your teeth; letting one rip; belching out a loud one. We're all guilty of doing it. Sometimes, we're completely unaware that we're doing it. You're just going about your day when you let out a little toot and level the crowd of people walking behind you.

For a long time, I was a fan of picking my nose while I drove my car. This was especially true when I would drive home from work late at night. The next time you're out and about at night, take a second to look at the cars coming your way. Can't see the driver because the headlights are blinding you? Well, that's the perfect situation to pick one out that's been bugging you. But like I said at the beginning of this paragraph, I was a fan. This all ended the night I was driving home and "dug" a little too deep. 

Before I knew it, my finger was covered in blood. It's a pretty big shock when you're doing 45mph down the side streets of your town. I couldn't believe this was happening as I reached into my glove box and searched for napkins to stop the flood of crimson coming out of my nose. Thankfully, I made it home without a drop on my clothes nor the seats of my car. As I'm staring into my reflection, with toilet paper plugging my nose, I vowed to stop doing it. I also promised myself to make an effort to become aware of the things I was doing.

See, up until the nosebleed happened, I wasn't really aware that I was picking my nose. It had become so habitual, that I didn't think twice about it. Then I had a conversation with a friend who claimed to do the same thing. We had just started doing things without realizing that maybe we should keep it to ourselves. He came clean that his big thing was farting in the bar. Who could blame him, though? You drink enough beer and you're bound to let out some gas. For me, it's burping while I'm there. A few times, I had belched out some loud ones and when I realized I was doing it, I would ask people if they heard it and I apologized. Another friend had become so used to my burping that he could pick out when it was me just by the smell. Gross, I know.

But, nothing beats going to the local bar on Thanksgiving night. I heard my bartender friend tell me it was the worst smelling night of the year. Not remembering what he said, I walked into the bar two Thanksgivings ago; he was totally right. It was absolutely rank in that place. It seems that everyone was letting out a fart here and there and thought no one would notice. That might be true when you're there on a normal night, but not when everyone you're surrounded by is doing the same exact thing. Had there been flowers in the place, you'd probably see them cry.

So, what keeps us doing this? Most of us were brought up better than that. I know my mom would hit me if she saw me burping in public. I don't even want to think of what she would do if she ever knew I picked my nose in front of others. But I guess that's what you deal with when you have a son. Are girls a different story? Everyone knows they're the "gentler gender" and they half expect guys to be gross. But do they burp in the middle of a crowd? Are they tearing it up with their farts and blaming guys? I certainly hope not and if you're a girl reading this, please don't shatter that thought for me. We all know girls are crazy, but if you add any of the bad habits discussed in this post, I might never take a girlfriend.

You Just Hush Your Mouth

When I was a younger guy, I took pride in the fact that I could talk to any girl in the bar. My friends held me in high esteem for this, what I considered very simple, ability. They would send me into the field when all hope of leaving with a lady's number seemed all but lost. In retrospect, I'm making it seem like I was a Green Beret of vagina. But, that's what it felt like.

I'd get my directive and hone in on the target. My approach would be stealth, their defenses down, and I'd move in for the kill with a swift "hey, what's going on?" of my mouth machete. By the end of the night, everyone was laughing and a conversation was had. Sometimes it ended with makeouts, others with hugs and handshakes, while most ended with numbers exchanged. My friends were happy and things went better than expected.

Now a days, I'm like the bitter, old vet who scowls when they see something they don't like. I find myself not having any patience to speak to some girls when only a few years ago, I'd talk to any of them. If she wasn't interesting, I wouldn't ask for her number at the end of the night. She would just be someone to chat with and I'd find something that would link us together and carry the conversation for the rest of the evening. We'd laugh and in the back of my head I'd silently whisper, "gosh you're a dumb girl." Those words are now a struggle to keep in my head and the booze ain't helping. 

It's no longer about trying to keep the girl entertained enough to get a reward at the end of the night. If she's (let's call it what it is) an idiot then I will have absolutely no tolerance for it. The worst part is that I don't leave. Why don't I leave? It's not hard to simply turn around and walk away while she blabs on about her crappy day care job. My brain is yelling at me "freaking bail, man!" But I don't. 

Know why? Because I'm cooler than her. That's why! 

This conversation is no longer about you. No, it's not about getting your number nor because you have the hottest body in the joint. It's because I'm cooler than you and I'm not leaving until you know it. It's about me and how cool I am and how much you suck compared to the thunderbolt of awesomeness that is my life. You're going to love me and find me witty, funny, and charming. Maybe another idiot will fall prey to your trap, but not me.

Well, I guess I'll try my hand at speed dating. Seems like those people might have the right idea.